


A Brief Respite

by Nedrika



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Escapism, Fluff, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nedrika/pseuds/Nedrika
Summary: Yang hadn't meant to be up, but since he was he was going to make the most of it and settle in for some long-overdue R&R
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	A Brief Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XenomorphLiebe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XenomorphLiebe/gifts).



It was 0300 and Yang was desperate for retirement. 

He wasn't even supposed to be on watch; the Hyperion had blown a fuse or a valve or some unknowable gasket down in the gubbins of the engine and he'd been dragged kicking and screaming (or at least grumbling very loudly) to the bridge to overlook the redistribution of work rotas and the transfer of spares from elsewhere in the fleet. They were all very lucky they hadn't evaporated in a more major upset, and even luckier that the only injury was a scald and concussion, but Yang hardly felt lucky in that moment. He was fully awake in the middle of the first watch, which meant he had four hours until he was back on the bridge and his second watch off would be catching up on the rest he'd lost.

On the other hand, it also meant that most people would expect him to be asleep. He brightened at the thought. 

It had been a very long sortie. They were in the middle of nowhere with weeks before they got to anywhere, trudging through the void with not even a meteor or pirate to brighten the mood. As such, now that the emergency was over and he'd signed his dozens of very important and apparently un-delegatable forms and allowances, he was a free man. 

Normally his free time was full of more activity than he would ideally like. There were always team building activities to be sullenly presided over, endless paperwork from head office that spilled over from his work hours and departments that had to be checked in on. And then there were the plans or suspicions that would come up on him at strange hours, or he'd get a transmission about his home on Heinessen or Admiral and that would need to be seen to.

Dusty had called up the day before to declare that he had been signed up for a poker match between all the captains, played over transmission from the comfort of their own ships. It had been a nice enough gesture, or at least it would have been if he'd been given a choice and if his terrible poker face wasn't mythical throughout the fleet. Naturally, he now owed a terrific amount of money to Bucock and had locked himself into a final, desperate shogi match to give himself a chance to avoid losing a month's wages. He'd lost a lot last time they played, but it was still possible to recover.

Now, though, nobody was looking for him. He was awake, alert and had hours to kill, and the possibilities brought him back to his quarters with a spring in his step. 

The door hissed opened to another, higher pitched whistling, and he broke out in grin. There was Julian, taking ruthless advantage of his access to kitchen facilities another Lt. JG could never dream of, enveloped in a cloud of steam and looking particularly guilty. 

"I did check that you weren't asleep before I put the kettle on," he said, as though they weren't both perfectly aware that once you're used to sleeping on a ship of the line you could sleep through about anything.

"I hope there's plenty water in there for two," Yang said, slouching himself against the wall and watching Julian dart to the cupboards.

"Of course," Julian replied. "Although you really should be getting back to sleep, you need to look after yourself."

He rolled his eyes at the eternal mothering, but it never failed to be endearing. They'd been on opposite shifts recently, and it was nice to catch him at ease on his break and slip right back into the same casual atmosphere as always.

"One of the many downsides of wielding authority," he sighed. "No matter what the issue is, there's always a stamp needed. At times it's like we never left the Empire at all." 

Julian's head whipped round, his hand left hovering above the tea caddy.

"It's nothing serious, is it?" 

"No, all's back in order now. Although I'm surprised you didn't hear the pop, I'm told it was quite something. Down your end of the woods as well."

Julian shook his head, hair really getting long enough to tread the line of regulations, and returned to working his magic. Real, life-saving magic.

"We were at the sparring range; I wouldn't have heard a thing for the ear defenders."

Yang was still trying to remember the last time he'd been in a firefight, and whether there'd been an awful lot of gun noise over all the screaming and dying, when a cool handle was held out to him. He held the warm ceramic close, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the subtle sweet of brandy unmistakable.

"You're a good subordinate, you know."

"I know," Julian said as he poured his own tea into a steaming travel mug and tucked a box under his arm. "I promised I'd make tray bakes for the unit, and I've not got long before I need to be back. Promise me you won't add more alcohol to that after I'm gone?"

"Promise," Yang said, as sincerely as he could, and was rewarded for his efforts with a look of pure skepticism before Julian was out of the room and the door was easing shut behind him. 

He gave it a full five seconds and one long sip before he made his way over to the bottle for an extra slug, picked up the reader from his bedside and bee-lined for the door. Happy and triumphant he marched his way down into the belly of the ship, schooling his face into stern and busy when passing stragglers in the halls, until finally he stood before the cargo bay.

The air in the bay was musty, tinged with a rusty zing that caught in his nose, and it was gloriously quiet. The constant engine buzz was louder here and it rattled the hull with a gentle, constant clattering; there was a complete absence of human noise.

There was a spot towards the back of the hold where several huge bags of rice were piled up in thick plastic cuboid bags, sheltered from the door by hundreds of boxes of ration packs and tinned meats. It smelled vaguely of a burst seam and moulding grain, the light dim but the reader was illuminated, and the buzz was muffled by the expanse of stores to the point where it could be ignored.

It would be the last place anyone would think to look for him, yet still within signal range so he could be contacted in the event of an emergency, and it was rapidly becoming his favourite place on the ship.

He set his things down on a jutting bag and hauled himself up on his desk worker arms, wobbling against its slight give, then shuffled himself into a comfortable position, and a sigh wormed out of him as he let himself sink back into the dust and struggle of _Anabasis_. 

The Hellene militiamen were in the mountains, beleaguered and bedraggled and still far from home when a throat cleared itself in his immediate vicinity. He ripped himself from the past so quickly it left him disoriented, Frederica materialising slowly before him. 

"I really shouldn't be surprised you'd be able to find me again," he laughed, but he couldn't find it in himself to be ashamed for being found among the beans and flour. It was his own time, and his own ship at that.

"Sir," she replied simply, mischievousness sneaking into her formal smile. 

"Could you not tell anyone where you found me? It's a nice island getaway, I wouldn't like it to get too crowded."

"I would never dream of it, Admiral. Here," she said, holding out a familiar shape in the gloom. He swapped his empty mug for her full one, sadly devoid of liquor, and picked the paper bag from her other outstretched hand.

"The galley said they hadn't seen you either, so I took the liberty of bringing you breakfast."

"Thanks." He peered into the darkness of the bag and met the very welcome smell of hot grease. He hadn't felt hungry a moment before, but it was suddenly making its twisting gratitude known.

"I guess feeding you is becoming a habit. I should be off though; I'm due on deck in ten minutes, and you are too."

He was on his feet in seconds and scrambling out of the door, followed by a fading voice warning him to please not spill tea on himself.


End file.
